


Right Where You Left Me

by Negate



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cheating, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Sterek Secret Santa 2020, Stiles and Derek are broken up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:14:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28350726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Negate/pseuds/Negate
Summary: Sometimes you need help from old faces... from people you hurt. And that means facing up to your mistakes.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30
Collections: The Sterek Secret Santa - Edition 2020





	Right Where You Left Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a gift for Sterek Secret Santa 2020, hosted by stereksecretsanta.tumblr.com

Pulling up outside the rundown cabin, Stiles can’t help but feel like they’ve stepped into a horror movie. The paint is peeled to all hell, the two front windows are boarded up, and the remains of an old porch swing are rotting beside a front door that’s barely holding onto its hinges.  
  
Stiles can feel Scott’s hesitation as they climb out of the car.  
  
“It’s no big deal,” Scott says, his nerves bleeding into his tone. It’s always a surprise that even after everything they’ve faced, Scott can still be nervous about something so mundane. “He’ll help us. He _has_ to.”  
  
“Okay then,” Stiles smirks. “Go knock.”  
  
“Fine. I will.” Scott bravados, but still he pauses.  
  
“No big deal, huh?”  
  
“You’re the one that should be shitting your pants right now, after everything that happened. In fact, you should probably stay in the car…”  
  
Stiles goes to make some quippy comeback, despite them both knowing Scott speaks the truth, but before he can the front door of the cabin bursts open. Derek barrels out, a shotgun in his hand and aimed straight at the two of them.  
  
“No,” Derek shouts from the porch.  
  
“Derek!” Scott calls back.  
  
“No! Take whatever bullshit you've gotten yourselves into this time and fuck off.”  
  
“Derek, _please_. You know we wouldn't be here if we didn't have any other options.” Scott always tries to handle things diplomatically, with calm and reason, but Stiles isn’t sure it’s going to work here. Still, he shrinks back and lets his best friend handle it.  
  
Derek’s glare could cut glass. “That's tragic, because I'm not an option either.”  
  
“You don’t _understand_ , there’s a—”  
  
Derek cocks the gun, keeping it directly aimed at Scott’s chest. “I. Don't. Care. You have to the count of three to get back in your fucking car. _One_.”  
  
“Derek!”  
  
“ _Two!_ ”  
  
“They'll kill us all if you don't help!”  
  
“ _Three!_ ”  
  
“Derek!” Stiles shouts, jumping in front of Scott. It’s the first time he’s spoken this entire time, not wanting to ruin whatever rapport Scott might’ve been able to create with Derek. It’s become clear that isn’t going to happen.  
  
For the first time, Derek's eyes turn to Stiles. They've been carefully avoiding him this entire time, a fact lost on neither of them. Stiles’ silence and Derek’s avoidance speaks volumes to each other.  
  
“Put the gun down and hear us out. _Please_ , Der,” he adds, doing that thing with his eyes that Derek never could resist. It's not fair. It's not nice. It's downright underhanded, maybe even cruel, but Stiles _needs_ Derek to listen.  
  
His hold on the gun falters, but only for a moment. Barely noticeable. A heartbeat passes, and the gun fires. Stiles jumps up into Scott's arms, just as Scott’s body flinches backward, propelling them both onto the ground. The dirt at their feet is disturbed from where the bullet landed.  
  
“Five minutes,” Derek grunts, going inside.  
  
Scott and Stiles scramble up and follow him inside the cabin without question. This is the break they were praying for.  
  
If the outside was bad, the inside is a disaster. The walls are covered in mold and grime, and the floorboards creek under their weight with such intensity that Stiles thinks they’re going to fall through any second. There’s a couch, but it’s ripped and stained and nothing any human being should be sitting on. They follow Derek through the mess and the dreariness into the kitchen, where only a table and a couple chairs sit.  
  
Stiles wonders why Derek chooses to live like this. He's gruff, unwashed, and surrounded by squalor. He feels a twinge of guilt, knowing it's his fault. Everything is his fault. The course of their lives all comes down to him and his selfish mistakes.  
  
Derek tosses the gun onto the kitchen table. It lands in a pile of old dishes and newspapers. “Four minutes.”  
  
Scott explains the situation. Derek uses a knife to cut open a bottle of beer and chugs the whole thing, some strange attempt at a power move, going for another immediately after. It's clearly not his first drink of the day.  
  
“So, you don't need _me_ , you just need the numbers.”  
  
“We need everyone. _Especially_ you. You know how to fight, and you know what we're up against. We can't win this fight without you.”  
  
“Then I guess you're going to lose the fight.”  
  
“Derek,” Scott pleads.  
  
But Derek just sneers. “Get the fuck out of my house, Scott.”  
  
Scott looks at Stiles, at a loss. Stiles nods silently toward the door, signalling to “let him handle this.” Scott quietly shuffles out in defeat, leaving behind a feeling of dread. They’d both hoped Scott would be able to convince Derek, and now they’re fate is up to Stiles, literally the worst person to be talking to Derek one-on-one.  
  
Once he's gone, Stiles silently walks around the kitchen, running his hand along the many, many empty beer bottles sitting on the countertop.  
  
“Derek, I—”  
  
“Stiles. Don't.”  
  
“I hate seeing you like this.”  
  
“Hate seeing the repercussions of your actions? Tough.”  
  
“That's not fair.”  
  
“No, what's not fair is you coming here. Scott, I understand, he’ll do anything to protect his pack, but _you?_ After what you did? You're a bastard.”  
  
“I am. I absolutely am. But Derek, we need your help.”  
  
“Why don't you go cry about it in the car with Scott? I'm not helping. Not him, and _definitely_ not you.”  
  
Stiles yanks the only other chair from the table and sits. “Pity isn't a good color on you.”  
  
“Fuck off.”  
  
“This isn't you. Sitting in a secluded cabin getting drunk every day isn't Derek Hale.”  
  
“Don't pretend you ever gave a shit about ‘Derek Hale.’”  
  
“Derek,” Stiles places his hand over Derek's, expecting him to recoil from his touch, but he doesn't. “I loved you.”  
  
“Not enough to stay faithful.”  
  
_Now_ he pulls his hand away.  
  
“I _still_ love you, Derek. I've never stopped.”  
  
“How much did you love me when you were fucking him?” Derek growls. “How much did you love me then, Stiles?”  
  
They never talked about it. Not really. It all happened so fast, and before he knew it Derek was gone. He fled Beacon Hills without a word, leaving Stiles to stew in his shame alone. He deserved it, but it was still hell.  
  
“I... I can't defend what I did. It was horrible. But Derek I'm so, _so_ sorry.”  
  
“Stiles. Get out of my house.”  
  
“I—”  
  
Derek heaves the bottle in his hand across the room. It shatters against the far wall, beer spraying everywhere. “ _GET THE FUCK OUT!_ Before I Make you.”  
  
Stiles jumps instinctively, his heart pounding with adrenaline. Eyes wide, tears threatening to spill, he stands up. This is what he expected, this anger and lashing is what he knew would happen, but it still takes him off guard. Derek’s anger… it scares him, and it hurts. He walks right out of the cabin, leaving Derek and everything still left between them...  
  
In the car, Scott sighs as Stiles climbs in. “I guess I just hoped he'd be reasonable.”  
  
Stiles drums his fingers against the window, thinking. “When have you ever known Derek to be reasonable?”  
  
“It didn't help that you came along.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“I told you it'd only make things harder.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“After what you did, I would've thrown more than just one bottle-”  
  
“Scott. I get it. I'm the bad guy in this scenario. I know. I fucked everything up. I guess I just thought if we saw each other again... that maybe he'd talk to me. Maybe he'd...”  
  
“Understand? I love you man, but you cheated on him. I don't think he can understand that.”  
  
Stiles doesn't know what else to say because Scott's right. Nothing he says can ever fix what he broke, no amount of explaining will undo that pain. Their relationship is dead, and any small sliver of hope he may have been holding onto has to stop. It won’t help anyone, especially not tonight.  
  
“But maybe I can still convince him to help with the fight,” Stiles finishes his thought process out loud.  
  
“I think we should just call it. We're wasting time here now.”  
  
Stiles, however, is already opening the car door. “I'm going to give it one last shot.”  
  
“I don't think that's a good ide-” the door slamming behind him cuts Scott off.  
  
He was only outside for a few minutes, but Derek managed to inhale three more beers in that time. He absolutely reeks of it when Stiles comes back in. The sad broken-hearted drunk and the adulterous ex. It sounds like a fucking telenovela.  
  
“You're going to help us.”  
  
“What the fuck, Stiles?”  
  
“You're going to help us because under the self-pity, the anger, and the alcohol you're still Derek. The Derek we all knew. You'll help us because if you don't, people you still care about will die. Everyone in Beacon Hills will die, and you won't let that happen, not without a hell of a fight first.”  
  
“You don't know me anymore, and you don't get to come in here and tell me what to fucking do.”  
  
Stiles leans down, getting right in Derek's face. The alcohol on his breath burns his eyes. “No, I guess I don't, but you do. And you'll do the right thing because that's who you are.”  
  
That's when Derek does something unexpected. He throws Stiles backward, slamming into the edge of the table, then collapsing on the floor. His side aches from the collision.  
  
“If you don't leave now, I'm Going To Kill You.” Derek’s standing now. There's a fury in his eyes that's unlike anything he’s seen in him before. It’s determined. He means what he’s saying.  
  
Stiles swallows, struggling to stand. “Then do it.”  
  
Derek looks confused. Stiles is confused too; he doesn't know why he just said that. It’s not like he wants to get beat up, but it _feels_ right.  
  
“If hurting me will help you feel better, then do it. I deserve it.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
_What?  
  
_The punch sends him directly onto the tabletop, papers and plates clattering to the floor under him. The next one splits his lip open. The one after that makes him see blue spots. The next is to his gut and he rolls off the table, gasping for breath.  
  
The kick to his ribs was a little unnecessary.  
  
Spitting blood onto the floor, he looks up at Derek, who looks more like Derek than he has all night. All rolling anger and focused eyes.  
  
But seeing Stiles on the floor, seeing him bloody, bruised, and clearly in pain... it takes the spark away. Derek's muscles relax and he falls against the table for support. The moment has passed.  
  
Stiles smiles. His teeth are bloody. “That... that all you got?”  
  
“Don't fucking test me.”  
  
“D-do you... feel any... better?”  
  
“No. Because when I see your face, all I see is you with him.”  
  
Stiles cheated. He and Derek were going strong, but Stiles... he ruined that. It’s not even an original story: He met a guy at a bar and took him home. Fucked him. Which is bad enough, but Derek walked in on it happening. Caught in the act, right at the finish line, all he could do as he came was watch the light leave Derek's eyes.  
  
It was self-sabotage. He knew that all along. He had something good, something _real_ , so he had to ruin it. Because he doesn't know how to be happy.  
  
It all sounds very clinical, very therapist and clean cut. Feeling it in the moment... that was so much worse. Knowing he fucked up so deeply, and knowing why, but being unable to express it.  
  
He still doesn't know how to tell Derek all of that now.  
  
Instead, he falls into another cliché. “He didn't mean anything.”  
  
“You _fucked_ him.”  
  
He doesn’t know how to tell Derek all of that, but he has to try.  
  
“I was sabotaging myself.”  
  
“You. Fucked. Him.”  
  
“I don't know how to be happy.”  
  
“You looked pretty happy that night.”  
  
“I was cumming, of course I looked...” he trails off as Derek's nostrils flare. Clearly that was the wrong thing to say. Of course it was. God, he’s an idiot.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"You're only saying that because you want my help. You and Scott both. You've had ages to come and talk to me about everything, but you chose _this_ moment. You're a calculating, manipulative bitch, Stiles, and I hate you."  
  
"No you don't," he replies. "And if I wanted to manipulate you into helping, I'd take a different approach."  
  
Before Derek can answer, Stiles moves toward him, stopping when they're only a couple feet apart. This is a risky gambit but one he’s willing to try, and only partly to get Derek to join the fight. Mostly… mostly he just wants to. "I'd probably try and seduce you.”  
  
He lowers to his knees, fully expecting Derek to push him away, but he doesn't. He watches Stiles the entire time he’s undoing his pants and tugging out his cock.  
  
It’s a testament to how much Derek is still attracted to Stiles by how fast he gets hard. He licks the underside of Derek’s cock, tasting him. All of him. It’s like coming home after a long trip, back to what’s familiar and good. So good. A little dirty from living alone in a cabin for so long, but good.  
  
Derek’s legs shake as Stiles wraps his lips around his shaft and works his cock like a champ. He knows every line of Derek’s body, every soft and sensitive spot, and he uses that knowledge now to make his body tremble. It’s almost hard to believe that just minutes ago this man was beating the tar out of him, and now he’s breathing heavy and moaning deep from his throat. It makes Stiles feel powerful. Alive.  
  
It doesn’t take long for Derek to finish. He shoots deep into Stiles’s mouth, pumping excesses of hot cum. It’s clearly been a while since he’s been touched.  
  
Stiles swallows, licking his lips after like a good little slut. Derek always loved that.  
  
Derek lets out a long breath. “I’m still not helping you.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
Derek raises an eyebrow.  
  
“This isn’t about that,” Stiles says. “This was for us.”  
  
*** * * * *  
  
**Once in the car, Scott immediately grills him over the cuts and bruises, which are _really_ starting to throb now. At least the bleeding around his mouth has stopped.  
  
“It’s fine,” Stiles assures.  
  
“He beat you up!”  
  
“I deserved worse.”  
  
“You’re a fucking mess, man.”  
  
Stiles licks his lips, the salty taste of Derek’s cum still lingering there, and smirks knowingly to himself. “Yeah, but you love me.”  
  
Scott starts to reverse away from the cabin, their mission officially a failure. However, that’s when Derek appears at the door, flagging them down with a wave. He doesn’t look happy about it, but he’s doing it, and that’s what matters. Scott and Stiles look at each other for a moment in disbelief.  
  
“What’d you say to make him come around?”  
  
“What can I say, I have a magic mouth.” Maybe he’s not the most subtle, but sue him.  
  
They climb out of the car, but Stiles pauses when his phone buzzes. He tells Scott to go ahead, that he’ll catch up, and reads the message on his screen. It’s from **BtmGuy420** , asking when they can meet up.  
  
He looks at the cabin, where Scott and Derek are talking.  
  
_Later_ , he texts back, and goes to join them.


End file.
